George was grateful to his parents. He was always grateful to his parents, but tonight he was particularly grateful to them, for making him at least finish school and test out as if he were going to go to uni, even though he had no intention of going. They had been disappointed that two of their three children hadn't pursued degrees in higher education, and that one of them had in fact chosen to open a bar, of all things, but they'd supported all three, always, and ultimately Joanie, Steven, and George had succeeded in their chosen fields.

And tonight, sitting with Scout's family as they sat around the fire, talking, George was relieved that he had a solid background in history, civics, and literature, so he could at least keep up with what was being said. As best as he could tell, between the dozen or so adults in the room, there were at least twenty bachelors, masters, and PhDs, most from Ivy League schools that were famous all over the world. It was daunting, and would've felt intimidating if everyone hadn't been so very kind.

Beginning with the moment they'd pulled up in the driveway, he'd felt enveloped in a warm embrace of family goodwill and love. The house was large and old, a classic white farmhouse straight out of a Robert Frost poem, and Scout's family came pouring out of every door, with a couple of dogs even jumping out of open windows. Next to him, the mother of his child made a happy noise as she swung open the car door and ran into the open arms of a woman who must be her mother.

"Heavens, are you pregnant?" he heard.

"Surprise!" he heard Scout's joyous reply.

"Oh my god, Scout--"

"Sis, why didn't you tell us?"

"Shit, are you kidding?"

"Chip, language!"

"Aunt Scout, are you really having a baby?"

George grinned and got out of the car.

Scout turned around, reaching for him.

"This is the person you're all going to ask about next, so here he is, okay?" She put her arms around his neck, announcing, "Everyone, this is George."

A young girl with braids and braces gasped, saying, "Oh my god, George Wilder is your baby daddy?"

"Sh, Gracie, Jesus, don't say it like that," an older woman, presumably her mother, admonished.

Scout laughed, her musical chimes laugh. George had a feeling he was going to be hearing it a lot over the next few days, and the thought made his heart soar.

"He is, Grace, aren't I lucky? Hold on, let me get the dogs out of the back, and we can go in and talk, okay?" And she went to the back, where the driver was unloading the luggage.

"Ooh, dogs," Grace said with a beautiful, metallic smile. "What kind?"

What a lovely age, George reflected, when dogs held as much allure as George Wilder in the flesh. He went to help Scout with Jess and Bandit.

Now, as he sat with his arm around Scout, feeling the baby shift against him from time to time, he couldn't recall a time when he'd felt more content. Farraway Mist and the strange events that had transpired there had never seemed so far away. He was in Connecticut, Scout and the baby were safe and by his side, and he would do whatever it took to make things stay that way.

Period.

As if she could read his mind, Scout put her head on his shoulder, settling against him, moving even closer.

He noticed Scout's niece, Grace, had slowly been scooting closer and closer, until she was now sitting almost on his foot.

"So, Auntie Scout, did you really come here in your very own private jet?" she asked, eyes round like chocolate creams.

"Well, no, Grace, we don't own the jet, sweetheart," Scout replied. "George just rented it."

"But he rented it just for you, though, right?" Grace persisted.

"Not exactly," Scout said with a smile. "He mainly did it for Bandit and Jess, if you really want to know."

Grace looked doubtfully over at the dogs, who were sleeping next to the fire, already thick as thieves with Thomas Payne, the spaniel, and Steinbeck, the terrier mixed breed who currently lived at the Lawson's.

"Really?" Grace was amazed.

"Well, it's really hard for dogs to travel, and George didn't want to leave them behind, you know?They've been his family for so long," Scout explained.

George made eye contact with Grace and pointed at Scout behind his hand, mouthing, "I did it for her," while he shook his head and smiled.

Grace smiled back at George while nodding, completely besotted.

Scout caught the tail-end of this communication and rolled her eyes at George, nudging his shoulder.

"Come on, idiot, let's get to bed, bump and I are tired," she said, patting his knee.

"Could you please not call our child 'bump'?" he admonished. "I'm sure he or she can hear you in there."

Everyone called out their good nights as the young couple took the dogs out, then went upstairs and fell in to bed.

"I really like your family," George said to Scout with a tired smile.

"Oh, George, they really, really like you, too," Scout replied. "I can tell. It feels so nice, too, like I did something good, and they're proud of me, which is kind of weird, you know?" She snuggled in close to him.

"Hey, before I forget? Could you pick up a bunch of that shampoo while we're here?" George asked. "The stuff you used when you first came to Farraway Mist?"

"Um, Honeysuckle Haze?" Scout supplied. "I guess. You like it?"

"I love it," he responded, sniffing her hair. "You've run out, and now you smell like a regular old English girl, which is unutterably dull. Please stock up before we return?"

Scout laughed softly. "No problem, sir. Any other fetishes I should be aware of?"

"I'll let you know. Now, you too tired to shag?" He reached under her pajama top, hand circling her breast.

"Never," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him. "I love you, George, I love you."

**********************

It was the afternoon of New Year's Eve, and most of the family was out seeing a movie. Scout, Chip, and George had passed on the movie, because they'd already seen it, and Scout had found an old knitting pattern that she really wanted to try out.

She'd just settled down on the sofa with George next to the old stove in the huge kitchen at the back of the house when Chip roared in.

"You guys, Ryan got a new pool table and electric guitar for Christmas and he wants us to go check it out, come on!" he called out, pulling on his jacket.

Scout looked up from her knitting. She had a blanket over lap, with two cats and yarn spread out over everything. "Chip, I just got comfortable. The last thing I want to do is go out into the freezing cold afternoon to visit gross Ryan and see his pool table and guitar. You guys go." She looked at George. "Seriously, go with him. He always has good whiskey, you'll like him," she said encouragingly.

"I must admit, I am intrigued to meet someone called 'gross Ryan'," George admitted with a grin. "I hate to leave you alone, though, darling," he said.

"Please, I'll be fine," Scout said. "Everyone'll be home in a little bit, anyway, just go, have a drink, shoot some pool, play the guitar, knock everyone's socks off, have some guy time." She nodded.

"Come on, George," Chip encouraged. "Scout's tough, she'll be fine, like she says."

"Okay," he agreed, rising. He gave Scout a fast kiss. "Text me if you need me, I'll come back straight away," he told her.

She nodded and waved him away.

Scout was completely engrossed in her knitting and lost track of time, so she was surprised when she heard a familiar voice call out, "Knock knock!" as the door opened and someone entered the warm and brightly lit kitchen.

She looked up. "Will!" she said, surprised.

"No, no, don't get up," he said, walking across the worn wood floor. "You look all cozy and tucked up nice and warm, stay where you are, please." He went to her and kissed her cheek, sitting next to her. "Just the person I wanted to see, anyway," he continued with a pleased smile.

Will looked thinner than Scout remembered. His hair was a bit longer, too. He had the same, kind brown eyes, the same glasses, skinny build. She tried to remember what it was about him that had moved her so much, that had evoked such a rush of emotions in her, but she couldn't. George Wilder had supplanted him, superseded and overridden him in every way, and in the seven short months that she'd known him, he'd erased Will Frye from the landscape of her life, like a strong wind simply blowing away a dry sandcastle.

"How are you, Will?" she asked, not unkindly. It cost nothing for her to be polite and courteous to this man. He meant nothing to her anymore, she was simply passing the time with another human being.

"I'm well, Scout, I'm very well," he replied, pushing his glasses up his nose in a gesture she remembered well.

"And you're looking absolutely lovely, I must say," he continued, leaning close to her. "I guess England agrees with you."

"I guess it does," she agreed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, a silence which Scout would've tried to fill in the past. But no more. That Scout didn't exist anymore.

Will finally laid a hand on her arm.

"You know, Scout, dearest, I've had a lot of time to think, over these past few months," he finally said.

Dearest. Scout had forgotten about that particular term of endearment. She detested it.

"About what?" She put down her knitting and turned to look at him.

"I've felt really bad about how we parted, about how I left things between us," he replied.

"Well, that makes sense, doesn't it?" Scout said.

He looked at her, confused by her words.

"Because you left things between us in a very shitty way," Scout said clearly.

Will sat back, removing his hand from her arm. Clearly, this wasn't what he'd been expecting.

"Scout," he said, taken aback. "I came here today to, um, talk to you, to apologize, to see if you wanted to give us another try--"

Scout, who was taking a sip of her tea, snarfed it, luckily not burning herself because it had sat there so long. She did, however, scare the crap out of the cat, Ophelia, who jumped down and glared at her.

What?

At that moment, Chip and George returned, sparing Scout the embarrassment of actually having to answer Will. They walked into the kitchen (only company actually went around to the front door), laughing and joking as they removed their jackets and scarves, stomping to get the snow off their boots. They looked up in surprise when they realized someone else was in the room.

"Whoa, who are you?" George asked when he saw how close Will was sitting to Scout.

"Will!" Chip said, stepping forward, eyebrows raised. "How've you been?"

Will rose from the couch, stepping forward, hand extended. "Yes, I'm Will," he acknowledged. "And you are--?"

"I'm George," he responded, pulling his gloves off. "I've been wanting to meet you," he said in an odd voice.

Scout started putting her knitting aside. "George," she said in a warning voice, trying to hurry, knowing she wouldn't make it. "George!"

"Oh?" Will said politely. "And why would that be?"

"So I could do this," George said. He turned a little, bent his knees, pivoted neatly, and swung up from the ground, hitting Will square in the jaw, an almost classic roundhouse punch. Will went down instantly, soundlessly, in a heap.

George spun around, his momentum nearly carrying him into the wall as Scout cried out in shock and dismay. She dumped everything onto the ground, including the other cat, Emily Dickenson. She ran straight to George, who was moaning softly, holding his hand.

"Oh Jesus, oh my fucking god, George, what were you thinking?" Scout chastised him, taking his hand gently. "Chip, go get me some ice, right now."

"Um, sis, maybe we'd better take a second to look at the guy who's unconscious on our floor?" Chip suggested.

"What?" Scout turned and looked at Will, who was starting to turn his head and moan softly. "He's waking up, he'll be fine," she said unfeelingly.

"I'm fine, darling, you'd better take a look at the bellend on the floor," George said, walking over to the freezer to get some ice.

Scout sighed and knelt next to Will, who had lifted his head and was looking around.

"Will? Will, you okay?" she asked. She slapped his face gently.

He moved his face away from her hand, irritated. "I'm okay, I'm okay, stop hitting me, please." He sat up.

"Dude, how many fingers am I holding up?" Chip asked, holding up three fingers.

"Three," Will responded. "What happened?" He looked around. "Why did that extremely ill-mannered Englishman hit me? What's his name? George?" He looked over to where George was standing at the sink, holding some ice cubes on his knuckles. "I want you to know I'll be pressing charges, sir."

George snorted. "Go ahead, you wanker," he said, shaking his head.

Will reached for Scout to help him up.

"Don't you touch her! You get your filthy hands off her, now, or I'll cut them off!" George roared. "Don't you even look at her, or breathe in her direction, you miserable excuse for a man." He dropped the ice in the sink and started toward Will, who quickly let go of Scout and rose to a standing position on his own.

Scout rolled her eyes and took a few steps toward George.

"George, you need to stop this, right now," she said firmly.

"Scout, who is this horrible person who thinks he has a claim on you?" Will asked indignantly. "I mean, honestly, is this what you've been reduced to since we've been apart? Is this what your world's come to? Name calling and physical brutality? So superficial? And you've let this person into your parents' home?"

George looked crestfallen.

"He's right, darling, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I had no business behaving in such a barbaric manner here, in your childhood home."

Scout blinked.

"No," she said. "Hold on now." Everyone was looking at her in surprise. Chip looked like he hadn't had so much fun in ages.

Scout looked first at Will. "Actually, yes, Will, this is my world now, and this is the person I've let into my parents' home.

"You actually came here for a reconciliation?" She stared at him, fascinated. "Here's the big reason, the huge reason it would never have worked, Will." She widened her eyes at him. "Do you notice anything different about me? Hm?"

He looked at her, confused.

She sighed and smoothed her sweater down over her stomach.

"I'm pregnant, Will!" she shouted. "I'm going to have a baby in four months! You've been with me for the last hour and you didn't notice, because you never fucking look at me! You never see me," she concluded in a soft voice.

Will started to say something, but Scout held up her hand, silencing him.

"And you asked me if we were going to be so, um, 'superficial', was it? Well, guess what, Will? We are, we're going be that superficial. Ready?" She looked around. Will looked nervous, George had a small smile of encouragement for Scout, and Chip was grinning from ear to ear.

"This, Will?" Scout pointed to her stomach. "This, that you said would be so hard for 'someone like me'," and Scout used the detested air quotes, "to accomplish? This happened when he barely touched me, in case you were wondering." She smiled at Will.

"And the other things, the things that you said didn't happen for women, especially women who were like me, women who looked like me, Will?" Scout took a step toward Will, who took a frightened step back, which made George's proud smile even bigger, "those things happen for me a lot, Will. Sometimes when he just stares at me. Like, over and over. Yeah. Like one right after the other, until I think I'm going to faint or something." She raised her eyebrows. "So I guess you were wrong, hm?" She crossed her arms.

Will stood, staring at the floor.

There was a smart rapping at the kitchen door, making everyone jump.

"Hello?" a cheerful voice called. "It's me, Marvin! I have a delivery for Scout!"

Chip grabbed the package from their delivery man and returned with it, handing it to his sister. She looked at it before saying to George, "It's from you."

Will finally looked up.

"I guess I'll be going, then," he said, trying to preserve some sense of normalcy from the horrible fiasco that had just occurred.

"No, Will, I want you to wait and see what's come for Scout," George said, putting his arms around Scout's expanding waist.

Scout looked at George, trying to figure out the reason for this strange request.

"What? Why?" Will, too, thought this an odd thing to ask for. He just wanted to leave.

"I'm asking you to stay," George said. "Is this going to be a problem?"

Will just stared at him for a moment, finally shrugging. "No, I suppose not," he said.

Scout sighed and tore open the package, removing the bag inside.

"What is it?" she asked George.

"Late Christmas gift," he said with a smile.

Inside the bag was a robin's egg blue box, known by women the world over.

Scout ran her fingers over the lettering that spelled out "Tiffany & Co" before opening it and pulling out the velvet box inside. Chip bit his lips together and watched silently.

She opened it and pulled out the heavy platinum bracelet. Little hearts hung from it, hearts that dangled in all different colors, sparkling in emerald green, amethyst purple, sapphire blue, ruby red, aquamarine, topaz yellow...

"Oh my god," Scout breathed as she held it up.

"Wow, sis, it looks a lot like the one from--" Chip began. Then he looked at Will, who was staring at it, his humiliation complete.

This was no drug store bangle.

There was one solid silver heart, different from the others not a sparkly gemstone, and it bore an inscription: each one carries all my love...

Scout braced her palm on the table as she leaned forward, eyes closed, and tried not to cry.

Will rose without another word and walked out of the warm kitchen, and out of their lives forever.